


Be Calm (I guess that's why it took so long to get things right)

by BlueMoonRoses



Series: Horror Movies [2]
Category: Final Destination (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonRoses/pseuds/BlueMoonRoses
Summary: A skittering fear clawed its way into Carter that day, took residence behind his ribs and held his heart in a vise-like grip.Death could come at any time, at any moment, and Carter had no control over it.Here one minute, gone the next.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blue Eyes and Tragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360086) by [BWPR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BWPR/pseuds/BWPR). 



> I recently watched Final Destination (Netflix has the first three in the series, and I really recommend one and three) and I really enjoyed [this fic,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8360086/chapters/19151089) but it hasn't updated in two years, unfortunately.
> 
> So, y'know, write what you want to read.
> 
> (Fic title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZp_8uqrmWw) because I feel it the lyrics just kinda fit the movie series as a whole.)
> 
> I won't go into too much detail with the violence, but this _is_ about Final Destination, so I'm warning you guys anyway.

The first time Carter Horton ever became aware of death was at a family reunion when he was about five years old.

Nothing had been out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest that things were about to take an abrupt turn for the worse.

His older cousin Tyler had been teaching him how to play basketball, all grins and good-natured ribbing. Tyler had sat Carter on his shoulder so he could dunk, small hands gripping the hoop, when Tyler stopped.

Then Tyler fell.

And Carter was left hanging onto the basketball hoop, legs dangling and kicking out as a fluttery panic rose in his chest.

“Tyler?”

His face was blank as he laid there in a crumpled heap.

“Tyler.”

Eyes staring out at nothing.

“Tyler!”

 _A brain aneurysm,_ he’d heard but didn’t understand until years later. There was no warning, no choice.

No control.

A skittering fear clawed its way into Carter that day, took residence behind his ribs and held his heart in a vise-like grip.

Death could come at any time, at any moment, and Carter had no control over it.

Here one minute, gone the next.

•••••••

Something about Alex Browning had always just set him off.

Something that rubbed him the wrong way, got on his nerves, drove him up the _fucking wall._

Maybe it was the daydreaming expression on his face, like he was sleepwalking his way through life. Maybe it was how it always felt like Alex Browning was only ever half way in the world, or how his blue eyes _looked_ but never _saw,_ always moving but never catching on anything, as if nothing was actually ever real; not people, not places, not anything.

Which frustrated Carter to no end because he couldn’t _not_ look.

Carter couldn’t not look at the face that was rounder than his, softer at the edges, compared to Carter’s own face which was all sharp angles. He couldn’t not look at the clear blue eyes that looked through him as if he were nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

So of course, when Alex Browning finally, _finally_ woke up – finally all the way in the world for once, looking so painfully _aware_ of anything and everything around him – and started _freaking the fuck out,_ of course Carter got involved. When Alex Browning started spouting off some bullshit about how the plane was going to explode and everyone was going to _die,_ of course Carter drew his fist back. When they got dragged off the plane, of course Carter couldn’t look away from him, not when he was finally fully rooted in reality.

_Of course, of course, of course._

Because the thing is, when it came to Alex Browning, Carter Horton couldn’t _not._

•••••••

More than anything, when Carter looks back on it, it was the visceral _fear_ radiating from Browning that kept him on edge after they all got tossed off the plane.

“I saw out my window, I saw the ground, and—”

He hears Browning explain his little freak out to Ms. Lewton, while he and Terry watch the plane pull back from the gate, Billy muttering something under his breath.

“—and the left side blows up, the whole plane just explodes!”

Carter’s jaw clenches as he turns away from the window, and he can feel Terry grabbing his arm, trying to keep him from going after Browning again.

“It was so real! Like everything happened, you know?”

“You been on a lot of planes that blew up?” Waggner asks, sounding skeptical but trying to not sound like he thinks Browning is nuts.

(As far as Carter cares right now, the guy might as well be.)

“You must have fallen asleep,” Ms. Lewton tells him.

(Somehow, that makes the boiling anger in Carter worse, because here he’d thought Browning was finally awake, finally all the way in the world instead of half way out of it, but apparently that painfully wide-eyed awareness was nothing more than a damn nightmare.)

“Whoa, we get thrown off the plane, blow what? Half a day in Paris? Because Browning has a bad fuckin’ dream?”

Exasperation rolls off of Terry in waves next to him, but Carter is too pissed to pay much attention. Too pissed to even pay attention to the next thing that comes out of his mouth, other than the fact that’s mocking and condescending.

Things go downhill pretty quickly after that, because the next thing he knows is that those clear blue eyes are right in his face as Browning lunges at him this time, and they both go down snarling at each other.

And Carter knows for sure now that Browning _is_ awake – that the freak out on the plane wasn’t a fluke of awareness.

There’s shouting and hands grabbing at the both of them and then they’re hauled away from each other, and Carter’s mouth is moving, saying things that aren’t fully registering in his mind, because Browning is still looking _at_ him and not through him.

But still things can go from bad to worse.

The only warning they get is Billy shouting _“Oh shit!”_ and then there’s the sound of something shattering, broken glass flying everywhere.

The hands are gone and Carter looks up to see fire and metal falling out of the sky.

The bottom of his stomach drops out at the sight of it, of knowing that if they had stayed on that plane…

He feels like he’s in free fall, like there’s nothing keeping him tethered in place, until he finally looks away from the sky and his eyes are drawn to Browning who is looking right back at him.

The utter despair Carter sees there both shakes him and anchors him, keeps him from just launching into hysterics.

•••••••

_Tick. Tick._

The only sound in the waiting area they’d been herded into is the clock.

_Tick_

Carter can’t look any of them in the eye – not that it’s difficult to avoid looking at the other people in the room; they’re all too busy staring at Browning, who is busy staring at the floor.

_Tick._

Or looking at Carter. Or to the left of Carter’s face. Carter can’t really tell because he’s trying to _not_ look.

Trying, and failing.

Terry’s got a death grip on his arm, but Carter barely notices it. He’s just… checked out.

Everything is _numb._

(Tyler fell and so did the plane.)

He checks back in when Ms. Lewton asks Browning something, quiet but so damn _loud_ in the near oppressive silence.

“How would I know?” Browning asks, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. (Carter can’t help but stare at the usually clear blue eyes that are now shiny and red rimmed.) There’s a look of confused realization dawning on Browning’s face. “You think I’m sort of…”

“He’s not a witch,” Clear’s voice is firm as she says it, glancing at Browning who looks back at her.

(It feels like there’s a rock stuck in Carter’s throat.)

And then the door opens.

•••••••

They question Browning first, and he’s gone the longest.

The FBI agents don’t have to say anything; Carter can tell just by looking at them that they think Browning had something to do with it. Which is honestly ridiculous in his opinion. Sure, he’s kind of a weird guy who drives Carter up the wall more often than not, but Alex Browning isn’t a killer. That much, at least, Carter is very sure of.

And if that certainty isn’t enough, then when would Browning have even had the time to sabotage the plane? He hadn’t been out of anyone’s sight the entire time, he’d taken his carry-on bag with him when they got kicked off the plane, and they won’t find anything in whatever remains of the checked baggage. Because there’s nothing _to_ find.

Because Alex Browning didn’t sabotage the plane.

Carter would bet his life on it. Not that he’d say any of this out loud; it’s just what comes to mind when he sees how Browning pales when they call him up first.

When he comes back, he doesn’t look much better than when he left, just more exhausted.

After Browning, they question Waggner _(oh fuck, his brother was still on the plane),_ then Ms. Lewton, Clear, Billy, Terry, and then Carter.

Agent Weine tries questioning him, and Agent Schreck tries to get him talking.

“I’m not saying anything, and I’m sure as hell not saying anything without a _lawyer,”_ Carter tells them with the biting, polite smile he’d gotten from his mom that practically says _‘fuck off.’_

Not that there’d be much he could’ve offered them in the way of information anyway, even if he had a lawyer present, but he knows better than to say anything else to them; because that’s how law enforcement types worked in Carter’s experience, from what he’s had to deal with occasionally. Of course, that was usually with house parties that got too out of hand and someone called the cops, but still.

Even if you had nothing to do with anything, they’d find a way to twist your words, not to mention the whole _‘only guilty people ask for a lawyer’_ propaganda that gets thrown around on TV constantly.

Anyway, they’d let him go after about twenty minutes of unsuccessful questioning.

They had nothing on any of them (nothing on Browning), because there wasn’t anything.

As much as Carter hates to admit it — even to himself, as much as it makes his skin crawl — sometimes shit just happens and it’s out of anyone’s control.

•••••••

Carter lost track of how long they’ve been waiting sometime around hour three.

They’re all exhausted, worn down by a lack of answers, grief, and probably shock.

The clock is still ticking away, but Carter can’t bring himself to look at it, to know exactly how long they’ve been waiting.

To know exactly how long Flight 180 has been ripped to shreds.

The silence is broken when the door swings open again and their families pour in, sobs and sighs of relief. Carter lets his mom turn his head this way and that, checking for nonexistent injuries, and over her shoulder Carter sees the look Mr. Waggner gives Browning.

A look of grief, a look of anger.

A look of blame.

Something in him breaks through the numbness at that, something that wants to make him stand in front of Browning, to put himself in between Browning and Mr. Waggner’s look of misplaced blame; something Carter doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Carter stays where he is, rooted in place, despite the wild, gnawing thing in his ribs telling him to move.

•••••••

The rain starts as soon as they step out of the airport and go their separate ways with their families.

(The Brownings had one more than usual, Clear’s family nowhere to be seen.)

The silence in the car is almost deafening, practically suffocating, and Carter wants nothing more than to get out. Something about being in such a small space after being stuck in that unbearably bright white waiting room is making him stir-crazy. Probably not though, it’s probably just… everything that happened – knowing that he evaded death by the skin of his teeth because he can’t help himself when it comes to Browning.

(And shit, isn’t that getting right to the core of it? It seems like no matter what he does, Carter can’t ever seem to get Browning out of his thoughts; not before, not on the plane, and certainly not now.)

The moment the car comes to a stop in the driveway Carter is out and heading for the front door, not waiting for his parents, not wanting to deal with stilted and awkward talks of what happened and how he’s feeling. To be honest, Carter feels like he’s going to be sick. And he just—he doesn’t want to talk about it.

He leaves the door open for his parents and has to make himself go up the stairs normally instead of at a dead sprint like he wants to. At the top of the stairs though, Carter just lets his legs move on their own, working from muscle memory; right, right, left.

Carter gets about as far as getting his shoes and jacket off before he collapses onto his bed, blindly reaching for the TV remote. Watching the glow of the TV, of the bits and pieces of people and metal float in the dark waters by JFK, Carter curls in on himself, dragging a blanket up and over.

The shakes take over his body as he watches the News (which station? It doesn’t matter, they’re all bound to playing the same thing) with eyes wide open, committing every detail he can to memory.

It’s the least he can do.

Besides, he won’t sleep anyway; not when all he can see when he does is everyone going up in flames as Flight 180 falls apart around them. Not when he can see clear blue eyes melting in their skull.

He doesn’t believe that Browning had a… a _premonition,_ or whatever Ms. Lewton seems to think it was, but Carter can’t help but wonder if this is anything like what Browning claims to have seen.

Carter watches the images on the TV well into the morning, after the downpour and the thunder has died down, letting the sun shine through.

Carter doesn’t stop shaking for _hours,_ his mind going back and forth between blue eyes and Flight 180.


	2. Chapter 2

_‘The Survivors of Flight 180.’_

That’s what every news outlet is referring to the seven of them as. It’s all they’ve really got about the explosion, none of the officials have released any valuable information as to how or why Flight 180 tore itself apart on take-off.

Which means the seven of them have been the ones the media has been harassing.

Or trying to, anyway.

Because some _jackass_ let their names slip.

And as far as Carter can tell, the others have had the same idea as him; holing up in their homes to avoid having cameras and mics shoved in their faces.

Carter decides to take the extra week the school offered them. He doesn’t know if any of the others take the extra week too, but since they don’t pop up on the news, having their personal space invaded by reporters, it’s probably a safe bet.

Hell, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen Terry the entire time, hasn’t even called her. But she hasn’t called him either. Or if she has, he hasn’t heard the phone ring from the bottom of the bottle of whiskey he’s crawled into.

And oh, isn’t that the kicker?

His parents – and god does he love them, he really does, despite the way all three of them have kept each other at arm’s length for years now – left three days after that night.

So Carter helped himself to the liquor cabinet, and hey, his two weeks of binge drinking have been great.

Just absolutely _fan-fucking-tastic._

No, really.

It’s been an eventful two weeks of drinking alone in his house, drinking by the pool when he wanted a change of scenery, and nearly setting the kitchen on fire when he tried to make pancakes at 3 AM.

(Even when he’s drunk he can’t stop thinking about everything, but like hell if he’s going to stop trying.)

•••••••

Carter pulls himself together long enough to sober up for school.

He’s cutting back on the drinking – not a lot, but enough so that he isn’t always hungover the next day.

No one seems to know how to act around the seven of them anymore, always walking on eggshells or looking at them with pity.

Carter hates it.

It’s nothing but salt in the wound, a constant reminder about what happened. He’s not completely heartless though; the other students lost friends and family to Flight 180 and he can sympathize with that. But that doesn’t mean he wants anyone feeling sorry for him.

He and Terry don’t talk much anymore. What is there to say? They’ve mostly just kept close enough to each other to appreciate each other’s company, but other than that… Nothing.

Out of the seven of them, Clear and Billy seem to be holding themselves together pretty well. Ms. Lewton always looks like she’s on the verge of tears.

But Browning and Waggner…

It’s odd, not seeing them around each other; Browning looks miserable and Waggner, well, he lost his brother. But the thing is, is that those two are best friends – have been since grade school – so the distance between them is so painfully obvious.

And it makes Carter scowl, because it reminds him of Mr. Waggner and his misplaced blame; reminds Carter of that urge to plant himself between Browning and whatever is making him miserable.

But he doesn’t.

Carter stays right next to Terry, glaring at Browning, who looks right back at him – no pity or contempt and not through him.

(Blue and brown eyes unable to look away.)

•••••••

It’s been 39 days.

How has it been 39 days?

_(39 days and 39 people from their school, dead and gone.)_

The school is hosting a memorial service, even built a statue out front.

Carter wishes he could say he cares, but the numbness has settled back in. He isn’t even paying attention to what the priest – or minister or whatever the guy is – is saying. Something something death and bible verses.

Besides, Carter is too busy being hypervigilant, having to know where the other six survivors are.

Ms. Lewton is sitting up on stage with a few other teachers, Waggner and his parents are sitting in the front row, the Brownings off to the left and a few rows ahead of Carter and Terry, Billy is a two rows behind them, and Clear sits in the way back by herself.

Oh, and the Agents are here too. Because why the fuck not?

Because apparently they’ve got nothing better to do than follow Browning around, somehow still convinced that the biggest dork Carter’s ever met had something to do with Flight 180 exploding, instead of, y’know, _actually_ looking into why the plane exploded.

Carter gets up when Terry does, falls in line with her as people go up to lay roses on the memorial. And Browning falls into step behind them.

“I hope you don’t think because my name ain’t up on this wall that I owe you anything,” Carter says to him, the words just falling out of his mouth without even thinking about it.

“I don’t,” Browning replies, voice calm and even and completely sincere.

Carter can feel his eyes looking at the side of his face.

And for once, Carter can’t bring himself to look back at him.

“Because all I owe are these people,” Carter continues, unable to stop himself and he can feel Terry growing exasperated with him – probably thinking he’s trying to start a fight – whereas Browning is surprisingly civil with him. And it… it feels weird and he hates it, this forced politeness. Inevitability wins out in the end when Carter finally turns to face Browning. “To live my life to the fullest.”

Browning sighs, a tinge of frustration in it, but he doesn’t look away from Carter’s bloodshot eyes, doesn’t flinch away from how obvious it is that Carter’s barely keeping himself from falling apart at the seams. “Why don’t you stay off the J.D., then, huh, Carter?”

Carter’s hand shoots out, the numbness finally receding – what is it about Browning that does this to him? What is it about him that keeps Carter from being swallowed whole by nothingness? 

“Listen. Don’t you ever fucking tell me what to do, alright?” Terry’s well-manicured nails dig into both of their arms, a physical reminder to not have a repeat of their fight at JFK right in the middle of the memorial. “I control my life, not you.”

“Carter,” Terry warns, finally managing to pry Carter’s iron-grip off of Browning’s arm, and suddenly it’s too much.

He feels untethered, like the compass of a needle spinning out of control.

“I’m never gonna die.” Carter doesn’t mean to say it, never meant to reveal so much about himself in one sentence.

Something like dawning realization settles on Browning’s face and Carter can no longer stand the weight of his gaze, can’t stand being so damn _vulnerable_ in front of Browning that he all but runs from him.

•••••••

There’s an odd, fluttering breeze against Carter’s neck while he stands at the stove, waiting for the water to come to a boil.

He slaps a hand over the back of his neck as his head whips around, but there’s nothing behind him. Must’ve just been his imagination.

Rocky Mountain High starts playing on the radio, and Carter’s nose scrunches in distaste as he changes the station. He’s never liked John Denver all that much.

••••••

Tod Waggner hung himself.

It’s all anyone at school has been talking about.

 _‘A suicide,’_ said in equal measure sympathetic horror and morbidly inappropriate excitement.

Something about it feels off to Carter, an annoying niggling in the back of his thoughts. Maybe because Tod Waggner hanging himself seemed about as likely as Alex Browning blowing up a plane. Which is to say, not likely at all.

And sure, grief can make people do some really out of character things, but this… This wasn’t like that. If anything, it would be more believable if Waggner had slipped and hung himself by accident.

••••••

It’s so damn _quiet_ and Carter can’t stand it. Can’t stand the claustrophobic silence, can’t stand the loneliness.

Pulling on his jacket and shoving his shoes on, Carter grabs the whiskey he’s been pacing himself on and heads out the door. He doesn’t bother with his car; he plans on getting drunk enough that driving is gonna be a bad idea.

He wanders aimlessly for a while; Carter would go see Terry – _should_ go see Terry – but she’s probably already asleep and they’ve just been pulling away from each other further and further. Terry’s got no patience for his shit right now and Carter can’t seem to get his shit together.

So Carter walks; he walks the midnight streets until suddenly he’s at the school, heading for the memorial, but there’s someone already there and Carter stops in his tracks when he recognizes who.

Of all the places in town to cross paths, Carter hadn’t been expecting to find Browning sitting on the grass in front of the memorial.

Or maybe he should’ve expected it.

Hell, Carter can’t even really give a good reason as to why he himself is here, just that this is where his feet took him when he couldn’t stand to be alone in his too big house anymore.

“Tod didn’t kill himself,” Browning says without even looking at him. Carter sits next to him, holds out the half empty bottle of whiskey and Browning takes it.

Carter doesn’t say anything and they sit there in a surprisingly comfortable silence, just looking up at the memorial, passing the whiskey back and forth.

“I won’t be allowed at his funeral,” Browning whispers and Carter isn’t sure if Browning is telling this to _him_ specifically, or just thinking aloud. “Mr. Waggner said I drove Tod to suicide, but I didn’t because Tod didn’t kill himself. Bludworth found cuts on Tod’s fingers from trying to pull the wire.”

Carter has no idea who Bludworth is, but there’s a flash of anger simmering just beneath the surface, because of course Mr. Waggner told Browning that; the man is grieving and it’s probably easier to blame someone than to fully face the loss of both of his sons.

(Carter knows from experience; when Tyler died, it was easier for everyone to point fingers at everyone else even though there was nothing they could’ve done anyway, no one to rightfully blame, because it was a god damn _aneurysm_ that was literally no one’s fault.)

“Fuck ‘em. Go anyway.”

The wide eyed look of surprise on Browning’s face is something that Carter doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. Usually with Browning it was all half-awake expressions.

“I don’t—” Browning starts, but Carter cuts him off.

“He’s your best friend, right? Go to his funeral. His dad will work out his own shit eventually.” Then Carter pauses, thinking about it. “Or maybe he won’t. His shitty way of dealing with grief isn’t your problem. You’re not obligated to fix him or anything, Alex.”

And yeah, he was kind of rambling. Fuck. If he’s at that point then he’s had a little too much to drink and should probably call it quits.

Carter’s snapped out of his thoughts when Browning speaks up.

“Who are you and what have you done with Carter?” Carter narrows his eyes at him, but Browning is grinning like the smug little shit he apparently is and all Carter can think is _oh no._ “But seriously, thanks.”

And Carter can’t really figure out what to say, a little too blind-sided by Browning _smiling._

At _him._

_(Oh shit.)_

 

It isn’t until later, after he’s somehow made it home, stumbling through the front door, that Carter realizes he called him _Alex_ instead of _Browning._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I accidentally posted this chapter before it was actually finished so I had to delete it. It should be fixed now. If not, I'll come back and fix any spelling/writing mistakes later.

If it weren’t for the grass stains on his jeans, Carter would’ve thought last night was some sort of weird fever dream.

••••••

Carter is out driving with Terry, something close to happiness on her face, as if the past month hadn't happened at all.

But then at a red light, he just happens to glance out the driver side window, his eyes just drawn to a familiar silhouette – the blond hair, the familiar slope of broad but thin shoulders – because he’s Carter Horton and that’s Alex Browning, sitting at a table with Clear, and Carter can’t not when it comes to Browning.

(He can practically _feel_ the happiness draining from Terry when she notices what he’s looking at.)

Carter does his best to ignore the intense _something_ that rises up in him – not quite anger, but it feels like something just as volatile – and pulls through the intersection when the light turns green. Terry sags in relief, and Carter thinks he can do this, can ignore it and drive, but his knuckles turn white from how tightly he’s gripping the steering wheel and he keeps looking back at Browning and he just—

He can’t _not,_ no matter how hard he tries, keeps being drawn back in like a bad habit.

Carter’s attention remains fixed on Browning as he pulls an illegal U-turn, completely ignoring the blaring horns from other cars and the distressed shouting from the person on the bike.

He doesn’t pull into the parking lane, doesn’t even turn off his car, just puts it in park before getting out.

“Hey, baby, come on, not now,” Terry tries, sounding tired and patience wearing thin. _“Carter.”_

And normally, Carter would listen to her, but it’s Browning and he’s looking at Carter, everything else falling to the wayside as anger (which he’ll admit to later as being unjustifiable) and something a lot like the burning sting of jealousy wells up in him, spurring him on.

And then Ms. Lewton steps out of the coffee shop – flinching when she sees Browning – drawing Browning and Clear’s attention to her long enough for Carter to not do whatever he was going to.

(He honestly doesn’t know, but it probably wouldn’t have been good.)

“It looks like we have a bit of a reunion here,” Carter all but sneers at her.

“Let it go,” Terry tells him, trying to get him to back down.

“When are you moving?” Carter asks instead.

“A couple of weeks,” Ms. Lewton answers tersely. Carter notices that she keeps edging away from the table where Browning and Clear are sitting; for some reason, she’s afraid of Browning and Carter can’t figure out why.

“That’s too bad,” Carter says, all biting, faux politeness. “We’re losing our favorite teacher.”

“You dick!” Huh, okay so it was Billy on the bike then.

Next to him, Terry is growing more and more fed up with him.

“Look, guys. There’s something I need to tell you, okay?” Alex tries as he gets up from the table, only to be interrupted by Clear.

This whole situation is irritating Carter, winding him up, but he’s got no one to blame but himself for causing this.

“And you lived here your whole life? And now she’s gotta move all because of Browning.”

He’s being mean and bitter, and he can’t stop himself, but Browning glares right back at him, his own anger and irritation flaring up, expressive and so clearly _awake_ in his eyes; Carter can’t help but want to see more of it, can’t help but fan the flames until they’re shouting at each other.

“Enough, both of you!” Terry finally snaps, making Carter’s mouth click shut and Browning scowls at him. “They died and we lived. Get over it.”

Clear, Billy, and Ms. Lewton are all staring at them.

“I will not let this plane crash be the most important thing in my life.” Terry smacks Carter’s shoulder as she says it. She goes around them, turning so she’s walking backwards down the sidewalk as she continues to chew him out. “I’m moving on, Carter. And if you wanna waste your life, beating the shit out of Alex every time you see him…”

She stops in the road.

“Then you can just drop fucking dead.”

Terry’s there one second, and gone the next, as a bus comes out of nowhere.

Blood splatters across their faces and Carter’s lungs forget how to work.

He’s vaguely aware of Ms. Lewton stumbling back into the coffee shop and Browning’s fingers clutching the back of Carter’s jacket, as if to pull him away from the road, away from the bus that screeches to a halt.

Away from the blood smeared across it.

•••••

All the lights are off except for in the kitchen and there are empty bottles littering the counters.

Carter tries counting all of them, but gives up; he can’t count that far let alone see straight.

He can’t even remember how he got home. There’s vague, blurry memories of police showing up and giving them his statement like everyone else, and Browning kept trying to catch his attention for something (blue eyes looking concerned), but Carter had just gotten back in his car and left.

What else could he have done?

Terry was dead, and while he may not have been _in_ love with her, Carter still cares about her. Cared about her. No, he was right the first time. _Cares._ Because she may be dead but that doesn’t mean she’ll ever stop being important to him. They’d been best friends for years before they had started dating, and that counts for something.

Carter isn’t quite sure _what_ right now, but he’ll figure it out when he’s sober. Whenever that will be. He’s not so sure about that either right now.

He groans and buries his face in his hands when his head starts pounding, and groans again when he realizes that it’s actually someone knocking on the front door.

“Fuck off,” Carter says – doesn’t shout – loud enough to be heard and whoever is at the door stops for a moment, allowing the tension to ease out of his stiff shoulders. It only lasts for a few, peaceful moments, before it starts up again.

With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Carter gets up and stalks over to the door.

Whoever it is clearly isn’t going to go away, and he swears if it’s those god damn reporters coming back to get a story on _‘the dying survivors,’_ or whatever Waggner and Terry’s deaths are being sensationalized as, he can’t be held responsible for his actions.

Opening the door reveals that it isn’t a bunch of annoying reporters at all.

It’s Browning.

Who looks both surprised and determined, almost as if he would’ve kept knocking away for as long as it took to get Carter to open the door.

Carter looks at him and steps out of the way enough to allow Browning to come in, closing the door after the blond. He heads back into the kitchen, Browning following after him surprisingly silently, and Carter starts looking for anything left to drink.

(It wouldn’t be much of a shock if Carter really did drink all the alcohol in the house; it’s been a stressful week. A stressful _month.)_

“Listen, there’s—” Browning starts and then stops, apparently taking in just how many empty bottles there are on the counter. Those blue eyes are burning a hole in the side of Carter’s face with how intently Browning is staring at him. “Are you okay?”

And that gets an ugly, awful bark of laughter out of Carter.

Is he okay?

_Is he okay?_

No, he isn’t.

Terry’s dead and Carter hasn’t been okay since he watched Flight 180 go down in flames. He’s so far from okay that Carter isn’t sure how he hasn’t fallen completely apart yet.

“Stupid question,” Browning concedes and Carter can feel the shift in the air as Browning steps closer, but not so close that he’s crowding Carter.

“Why are you here?” Carter asks and hates how shaky his voice sounds, but he makes himself meet Browning’s gaze.

“Well, there’s something important I have to tell you, but uh… that can probably wait. For now,” Browning says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking awkward in his own skin. “But I also figured that you could probably… We’re not friends, and we don’t have to talk about it or anything, but I figured you probably wouldn’t want to be alone right now. I know I didn’t when Tod…”

Browning trails off and Carter wants to be contrary and toss him out the door, but Carter doesn’t want to be alone right now. Or ever, but like hell he’ll say that out loud. He doesn’t even want to be drinking and the only reason he has been is because it’s the substitute that he’s gotten used to.

He wants to lash out – because how dare Browning read him so easily – but he also wants to just curl in on himself and block out the world.

In the end, he does neither of those.

“You’re right,” Carter admits that much, doesn’t elaborate any further than that, and grabs a bottle that isn’t completely empty, only for Browning to slap the shit out of his hand and snatch the bottle away. “What the _hell,_ Browning?”

Browning just narrows his eyes at Carter and without breaking eye contact, goes and dumps the bottle out into the sink. It’s a look that says _‘you’ve had more than enough, don’t even try to argue.’_ They glare at each other for a moment until Carter finally gives in and rolls his eyes at Alex.

They’re both stubborn and hot-headed – Carter just has a shorter fuse that burns out quicker like a flash fire.

And then Alex is herding him over to the couch, turning on the TV and there’s some mindless action movie playing. It’s surprisingly comfortable; the silence between them and just being sprawled out next to each other. It’s calm. Quiet. It’s something Carter hadn’t realized he’d been _wanting._

(But then again, when has Carter ever been completely honest about what he wanted?)

In the pale light from the TV, Carter can see how tired Alex looks and Carter probably looks just as exhausted.

“You look like shit, Alex,” Carter says, but there’s no malice in it.

Alex snorts.

“So do you,” Alex replies with a joking half smile on his face.

It makes Carter’s mouth hitch up on one side in a faint half smile of his own.

They go back to watching the movie, slouching closer and closer together until their shoulders are pressed together, a comfortable and much needed pressure that Carter hadn’t even been aware he needed.

His heart beats painfully slow in a way that feels nice, and the gnawing thing behind his ribs that always seems to show up around Alex settles for once.

•••••

Carter doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up the TV is still on and Alex is gone.

But there’s a blanket draped over him, pulled up around his shoulders, and a glass of water sits on the coffee table.

There’s a warm, low buzz in his chest and it’s the nicest Carter has felt in a long time.

(He doesn’t notice the curtains moving with a breeze that isn’t really there.)

••••

Ms. Lewton is dead and her house is nothing but ashes and burnt wood.

Oh, and Alex Browning is wanted for murder.

_What. The. **Fuck.**_


	4. Chapter 4

A bloody shoe print and the finger prints left all over the knife are pretty damning, Carter will admit.

That isn’t to say he actually thinks Alex killed Ms. Lewton, but those two bits of evidence aren’t exactly helping Alex’s situation. Despite the fact that finger print based evidence isn’t accurate at all, because the whole idea that no two finger prints are alike is a crock of shit that has been disproven time and again. It’s like saying that every snowflake is unique; it just simply isn’t true.

And as for the shoe print, anyone could’ve bought a pair of the same kind that Alex wears, so really it’s all circumstantial at best, although it makes Carter wonder why Weine and Schreck are so determined to take Alex down; it’s been a month since Flight 180 blew up and it’s been determined that a faulty electrical connector is to blame, and it’s not like they can pin Waggner or Terry’s deaths on the guy either.

Waggner was deemed a suicide – although from what Alex told him it seems like Carter was right in assuming it was an accident rather than any actual serious intent – and Terry…

Well, Carter was there.

Anyway, the flimsy evidence is one thing, but Carter supposes Ms. Lewton’s irrational fear of the blond after Flight 180 probably didn’t make things any better for Alex. Not to mention whatever it was Alex had said to the FBI agents when they had him in custody before she died.

Oh yeah, that’s one thing that’s got Carter practically _seething_ with frustration. Because they already thought Alex had gone off the deep end during their initial questioning back at JFK, and as far as Carter knew, Alex still believed in whatever it is he saw that made him freak out on the plane.

Whether or not the guy actually believed it to be a _‘premonition,’_ Carter didn’t know.

But that didn’t matter.

Unfortunately, what _actually_ mattered here was what two bumbling FBI agents thought. Two FBI agents who had nothing better to do than harass a high school student whose only connection to anything was pure coincidence.

Oh, and the fact that Billy Hitchcock, _for whatever god damn reason,_ had been riding his bike out past midnight and had seen Alex running from Ms. Lewton’s house before it exploded.

… Alright, so maybe the evidence is a little more than _just_ flimsy. Witness testimony and all that, but Billy _only_ saw Alex ~~fleeing~~ _leaving_ the house; he hadn’t actually _seen_ Alex do anything other than that.

Which still doesn’t change the fact that Alex Browning hasn’t actually killed anyone.

Not that anyone is really inclined to believe that, only looking skin deep at the whole situation.

Funny thing is, is that the only people who don’t think Alex Browning is a murderer are himself and Clear; the two of them have never been close, never really had a reason to get to know each other beyond being a recognizable face around town and at school, but at least they can agree on two things.

For one thing, (and Carter knows he’s said this about a hundred times already, but he’ll say it a hundred times more until it finally fucking sinks in for people) Alex Browning isn’t a murderer.

The second thing is that Alex Browning has really bad luck, always being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

••••

“Have you seen Alex Browning?” Agent Weine asks.

The blank look on Carter’s face says it all _(‘fuck off’)_ but the two FBI agents standing at his front door clearly aren’t going to leave until he actually gives them a verbal answer.

Carter rolls his eyes as he leans against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest.

“No,” he tells them; it’s a lie, he saw Alex last night, but like hell is he gonna tell them that.

Schreck and Weine both look skeptical.

“If he does contact you,” Agent Schreck says as he pulls out a card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, handing it over to Carter, “I think it would be in the best interest of your safety, and others, if you called us.”

He takes the card, one eyebrow rising in a way that says _‘okay now leave.’_ As soon as the agents get back in their car, Carter rips the card up.

The phone in the kitchen starts ringing, and Carter thinks it’s just his parents calling to check in, so he picks it up and starts talking without even really thinking about it.

“Everything’s fine, I haven’t burned the house down. How’s L.A.?”

“Carter?”

He frowns in confusion, nose scrunching up a bit. “Clear? How’d you get this number?”

“I don’t know if you heard, but there’s this great new thing called a phone book,” she replies wryly making Carter scowl a bit even though she can’t see it.

“I know what a phone book is, smartass. _Why_ are you calling?” 

“Those FBI agents stopped by earlier asking about Alex. Meet me at the memorial. Tonight.”

••••

It’s after ten when Carter gets to the memorial statue in front of the school, nearly running Billy over again.

“Carter, you dick.”

Carter just narrows his eyes at the guy as he flicks open his pocket knife, never once stopping his stride over to the memorial.

He remembers going to the service with Terry and the night he sat in front of it with Alex drinking whiskey, but all he can think about is that in a few days Terry will be put in the ground, six feet under, and how life will continue to go on without her, his best friend.

Closed casket and forgotten with time.

It’s a bitter burning for Carter at the thought; Terry Chaney deserves better than that.

She was going to go places, make something of herself, have a damn good _life,_ but now the only future she has is being forgotten.

And Carter won’t let that happen. He’s going to carve her name on the memorial, because he doesn’t give a damn if nobody remembers him, but Terry always has and always will deserve better.

“What are you doing?”

Carter looks up from where he’s kneeling by the plaque, pocket knife poised to start carving, and watches Clear approach. She both reminds him of Terry yet doesn’t resemble her at all.

Fuck, he’s not making any sense and he can’t blame it on being drunk because he hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since Alex dumped out the last bottle.

“Terry’s name should be on this wall,” Carter answers, turning his attention back to the plaque. He digs the knife in, saws it back and forth, beginning the T of her name, but nothing happens so he gives up. For now. “Shit.”

Folding the knife back up and putting it away, Carter pushes himself up onto his feet, facing Clear.

“Why’d you want us to meet you here anyway, huh?” he asks, but he already has a pretty good idea why.

Alex.

“Because they’re watching me, see if I go to Alex. That’s why you’re taking me,” Clear says as if it’s all really simple.

That, at least, reminds him of Terry; the no nonsense way she’d declare things that brooked no argument. It makes Carter’s eyes sting a bit.

“Why would I wanna see him?” Carter all but sneers, just to be contrary, but a knowing glint passes through Clear’s eyes. She always sees more than she lets on, the weird, artistic loner. So of course she’d notice how Carter had never been able to keep his eyes off of Alex, his attention always inevitably drawing to the blond like some kind of magnetism. Always inexplicably drawn to each other, even when Alex was still only ever half way in the world.

But instead of saying any of this, instead of exposing the thing that Carter hasn’t even admitted to himself, Clear just slightly tilts her head at him, the knowing look never leaving her face.

“Because he knows which one of us is next.”

••••

The drive to New York, to the accident site, is silent, save for the music on the radio.

Clear’s watching the other cars out her window, Carter is busy keeping his focus on the road, jaw clenching tightly in annoyance because of Billy who is sitting in nervous silence in the backseat.

The fact that they make it without getting into some kind of horrible accident on the highway is a miracle in itself, because even on Billy’s less annoying days Carter still wants to throttle him.

••••

The accident site is a one mile stretch of beach.

Clear tells them to search from the other side and that they’ll meet in the middle to save time. Carter would point out that they might as well all just stay in the car since there isn’t a lot of places on this stretch of beach that are hidden, but he’s actually… kind of worried. So he lets it go, lets Clear go off on her own and lets himself be stuck with Billy _‘Dumbass’_ Hitchcock.

At least Billy has enough sense to keep his mouth shut for once in his life.

By the time Carter has driven to the other end of the site and there’s no sign of Alex, a low thrum of fear rushes through his veins.

Where the fuck could he be? Was Clear wrong?

Carter turns the car around, goes back the way they came, and fuck, he doesn’t see Clear either.

Until he does.

Until he sees Alex and Clear heading towards where he’s parked his car and they’re holding hands.

Something that feels a lot like Carter’s heart and lungs just shrivels up and _dies_ at the sight.

It’s like when Tyler dropped dead, when Carter watched Flight 180 turn into a ball of fire burning brighter than the sun; it’s like the ground beneath him has given way and there’s nothing to anchor him in place.

Carter is in free fall.

••••

He’s driving a little aimlessly while Alex talks from the backseat.

Carter’s not really paying too much attention to the conversation until Clear says something about a cabin and Carter checks back into his own body.

“All right, Browning, you fucking warlock,” Carter bites out, brown eyes meeting blue in the rearview mirror; he’d feel bad about the flash of hurt and confusion that passes through Alex’s expression at the sudden and terse return of _‘Browning,’_ but Carter still feels weightless in the worst possible way. If it weren’t for how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel – knuckles turning bone white – Carter wouldn’t even be sure he was actually there right now. “Did you know about Ms. Lewton, or what?”

“Why do you think I was hiding?” Alex asks, the confusion and hurt settling in a little more.

“Billy told the FBI he saw you running from her house,” Clear informs him.

“I was running because they blame me. They blame me for Tod, they blame me for her, for the plane crash.”

 _‘At least he realizes that much,’_ Carter thinks a little too bitterly and he knows he isn’t being fair.

“The fire, like, caramelized her blood, Alex. Your shoe prints were in it,” Billy says. “Your fingerprints were on the knives.”

Alex lets out a frustrated sigh. “I told you, they were not—”

“I’m not talking about whether or not you did it,” Carter interrupts because they’re getting off track here, and as out of sorts as he is right now, Carter wants a god damn answer. Besides, he already knows Alex didn’t do it; the guy just has some shitty timing and even shittier luck. “Or even if you know she was dead. Did you know she was going to be next before she was?”

Carter hates asking it, doesn’t believe it, doesn’t want to, but…

Tyler’s unseeing eyes staring out at nothing pops into his mind, and Carter has to _know._

He can see Alex and Clear sharing a brief look through the rearview and Carter can feel his jaw clench painfully tight.

“Yeah, I did,” Alex admits. “I knew.”

_(The sensation of free fall starts to get faster, Carter’s heart beat getting faster.)_

“Out of us, who’s next to see it?” Carter’s mouth asks without his permission, because Carter can’t stand not _knowing._

“Please, tell me I’m gonna get to see the Jets win a Super Bowl,” Billy whines from the passenger seat and Carter has half a mind to just shove him out of the car, but the silence from Alex says it all.

The fact that blue won’t meet brown in the rearview anymore is damning enough.

“It’s me, right? That’s why you’re not saying anything,” Carter says, his eyes fixed on Alex’s reflection, seeing and feeling blue eyes burn into the side of his face.

Carter looks away and back to the road when Alex and Clear look at each other again.

He can’t stand to look.

Billy’s whining about something or other again and Carter can feel his hair trigger temper fraying and he can’t fucking stand _any_ of it. He’d always thought that _not_ knowing was the worst but he’d been so wrong. _Knowing_ is worse because he still can’t change shit about it, he has no control over any of it, he never did.

Carter Horton has no control.

He never did.

_(His free fall is approaching terminal velocity.)_

“What are you whining about? He said I’m next.” Carter all but shouts at Billy.

“He didn’t say anything. Just drive,” Clear tries distracting him, but it doesn’t work.

It doesn’t work because Carter is in a tailspin he can’t get himself out of. He says something to Alex, but has no idea what it is because his own voice sounds muffled to him.

“Do you think it’s gonna make it easier to know, Carter?” Alex asks him, his own patience wearing thin. “Huh? It’s not, it’s gonna make it fucking harder.”

Of course Carter already _knows_ that; what the _fuck_ does Alex think he’s getting pissed about? 

_(His blood is rushing in his ears and he’s finally reached terminal velocity.)_

Carter stops paying attention to what he says and to what’s being said as he floors the gas pedal, running a stop sign.

“Slow down, Carter!” Alex yells, blue eyes alive and awake.

“Fuck you,” Carter yells back, brown eyes burning angrily.

Everything passes by in a blur, how many streets he’s speeding down, driving on the wrong side of the road, barely swerving out of the way in time.

Alex is saying something else, concerned and panicked, leaning forward into Carter’s space, but Carter can’t hear it over the anger and hurt erupting from where his heart and lungs died. He’s been untethered too long and this free fall might actually kill him.

“We’re afraid too, Carter, but we’re not going to quit,” Clear says to him and Carter actually hears her, both pissed and sympathetic.

But Carter is a livewire right now, burning and fraying.

“Damn it, Carter! I want you to stop this car right now!”

So he does.

Right on a set of railroad tracks, right as the crossing gates drop and Carter cuts the engine. There’s a train horn not too far off and there’s a sick kind of giddiness welling up in his chest once the anger burns away. Sound is filtering back in and Carter is going to die, period, stop, the end.

The three others scramble out of the car, but Alex hangs back, leaning into the open door.

“Carter, listen to me. _Don’t do this,”_ Alex pleads.

Carter remains in the driver’s seat; it’s stubborn and petty but he doesn’t care.

“Goddamn it! Get out of the fucking car,” Clear yells at him from the safety of the other side of the crossing gate

“Carter, listen to me. Hey listen to me,” Alex tries again. “This isn’t the way. It’s not the way get out of the car!”

He watches impassively, suddenly empty of emotion. His gaze flicks from the group of three to the fast approaching train. But then he looks back to them, his gaze drawn to meet Alex’s, and the desperation there suddenly anchors him back where he’s supposed to be.

So he starts the car to move it off the tracks.

Except the engine won’t turn over, jammed in place.

He looks back at the train, getting closer and closer.

“Oh shit.”

Alex and Clear are still yelling for him to get out, and Carter gives up on trying to start the car so he goes for the door that is suddenly locked.

Fuck, okay, he’ll just crawl out of the window.

Except his seatbelt won’t unfasten.

_shit shit shit_

“I can’t get out!” he yells back and damn it the train is close and those things don’t exactly stop on a dime. But that doesn’t stop Carter from trying to get out.

Then Alex is right there with him, trying to help Carter get out, and the only thought going through Carter’s mind is that he’s fucked this up pretty damn badly because now they’re _both_ going to die when suddenly he finally slips free and Alex is dragging him up and out of the way as the train goes right on by, taking Carter’s car with it.

The two of them are flat on their asses, propped up on shaking elbows, watching in a state of shock at what almost killed them and Carter can distantly feel Alex’s hand holding tightly onto his own.

Clear rushes over to them, but Carter is still reeling from what almost happened, the only thing keeping him together right now is the near death grip Alex has on him.

And then Billy opens his dumbass mouth again.

“You’re next Carter. I’m staying the fuck away from you,” Billy screams and it knocks Carter out of his daze.

“Shut up.”

Clear says something to Billy while checking over Alex – and surprisingly Carter too – for any injuries.

“What are you doing? Get away from him, he’s next!”

Carter is really starting to lose his patience with Billy. Then again, he’d never had much of a tolerance for how annoying and whiny Billy could be. “Hey, fuck you, Billy. I’m not dead.”

“Oh, you will be. You’re dead, you’re dead. And you ain’t taking me with you!”

And then half of Billy’s head falls off when a large scrap of warped metal comes flying out from underneath the train. Alex’s grip on Carter’s arm gets impossibly tighter as they all watch in quiet horror as Billy’s body finally falls over and the train is gone.

And then there were three.

•••

Carter’s still in a state of shock.

Once silence had descended upon them, Alex had started rambling about _‘Death’s Design,’_ something about how it skipped over Carter. Clear had tried getting him to calm down, but he just kept going and going until Carter had made the guy look at him.

“You’re going off the fucking deep end, reel it back in.”

And somehow that had worked. Somehow, Carter had managed to anchor Alex back into himself, back into being fully in reality. Which also apparently made him the designated Alex Wrangler now. At least, it did in Clear’s opinion.

“I’ll stay here and deal with the cops, you get him to the cabin in one piece.”

It felt like too much responsibility, but then Alex’s hand had latched back onto Carter’s and he couldn’t exactly say no. Not when he didn’t want to let go of the other boy either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the canon divergence really starts to happen. Which also means that we're almost finished with the events of the movie and can at least try to fill in the six month gap.


End file.
